Harry tossed and turned throughout the night, unable to sleep. As the sun came up, he gave up on sleep completely and went down to the common room. After sitting in front of the fire, thinking about everything and nothing, he spied a red plastic bag tucked into the corner of the couch. After carefully pulling it out, he read the title of it.
"Skittles?" he asked aloud, wondering why on Earth a student at Hogwarts would have a muggle candy. Without thinking, he popped a red one in his mouth.
"What do you think you're doing?" a voice asked from behind him.
Harry, nearly choking on the candy, turned around to find none other than Kit glaring down at him.
"Er," he said lamely, "these are yours?"
Kit, shooting daggers with her eyes, replied in a voice of forced calm, "Yes, they are mine. Now give them back."
Harry, although sensing danger, decided to tease his girlfriend. "But they're so good!" he exclaimed, this time popping a yellow one into his mouth.
Kit looked ready to spit fire. "If you eat one more, I swear I'll –"
"You'll what?" he asked, popping a purple one in.
Without warning, Kit jumped over the back of the couch, landing on top of Harry, nearly causing him to choke again.
"Give me the bag," she ordered.
Defeated, Harry handed her the candy. "This isn't over," he said, as she got up, letting him breath again.
"Ha," Kit laughed, walking back up to her dormitory, "you wish."
Not ten minutes after Kit had disappeared up the girls' dormitory stairs did a cloaked figure come down the boys'.
"Going somewhere?" Harry asked the person, who was unaware of Harry's presence.
"Bugger," the boy gasped, jumping at the question. "Why are you up?"
"I couldn't sleep," Harry replied, sure of who was under the cloak now. "Where are you going?" he repeated.
Ron sighed as he pulled down the hood of his cloak. "I have to meet somebody."
Harry eyed him suspiciously. "And do I want to know who it is?"
"Nope," Ron said, continuing on to the portrait hole, "but I'm going to be late, so I'll see you at breakfast."
"Alright," Harry replied, watching the portrait swing closed. He found it very odd that Ron wouldn't tell him who it was he was meeting. Deciding that he would trust Ron's decision, Harry fell back into the couch, consumed once again with the thought of Ginny.
He seemed to have dozed off, lost in thought, because when he next opened his eyes, Kit and Adrien were seated on either side of him, dressed almost to the nines, chatting away about something.
"My, don't you ladies look pretty," Harry said, sitting up and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.
"Why thank you," Kit replied. "It's about time you woke up."
"Sorry," Harry said sarcastically. "What's the occasion?"
"My wedding."
Harry whipped around to find Oliver Wood, former Quidditch captain of the Gryffindor team, standing in the middle of the common room, tousle-haired and, most likely, hung-over.
Harry grinned. "Your wedding? Are you sure it's today?"
Oliver frowned. "I'm positive. Will you do me a favour?"
It was Harry's turn to frown with apprehension.
"Will you help my best man – er – help me get ready?" There was pleading his voice.
"Of course," Harry said, resigned to the task. "How long do we have?"
"Three hours," Oliver replied, obviously thankful for the assistance.
Harry looked incredulously at Kit and Adrien. "You two are ready three hours before the actual ceremony?"
"Of course," Adrien replied, "but we still have to do our hair –"
"And make-up –"
"And all that fun stuff."
Harry was flabbergasted. "Makes you glad you're a guy, hey?" Oliver asked.
"Let's get you ready," Harry said, standing up, and together they left the common room, leaving the girls to gossip.
"So where are we going?" Harry asked, as Oliver led him down a corridor.
"Dumbledore arranged me to have a room to get ready in. Sasha has one as well, but they're on opposite side of the school, so there's no way we'll run into each other."
"You do that superstitious thing?"
Oliver grinned wickedly. "It makes the honeymoon exciting."
Harry laughed. In moments they were standing outside a shabby oak door. Oliver knocked a pattern, and Harry could hear someone bustling around inside before the door was opened by a flustered looking man, not two years older than Oliver himself.
"Oh, thank goodness you're back," the brown haired man exclaimed, seeing Oliver at the door. "Kelci's just been to see us to say that Sasha's looking for you."
"She can't be looking for me!" Oliver exclaimed, entering the room and motioning Harry to follow. "It was her idea to do the twenty-four hour thing!"
"I know," the man said, who was now looking Harry over excitedly, his blue eyes twinkling. "And who's this?"
Oliver grinned. "Your slave," he replied, winking at Harry. "The best seeker I've ever seen."
"Well," the man said, holding out his hand, "call me Tony –"
"Or Anton," Oliver interrupted, smiling and taking off his outer robes.
"Or not," Tony continued, shaking Harry's hand. "Hopefully you're a good enough seeker to find this loser's shoes somewhere in here," he added, gesturing at the clothes ridden room. As Oliver kicked a robe out of the way, Tony added, "And we need to work wonders on this old boy –" he ducked as Oliver threw an empty butterbur can at his friend's head, "– or Sasha will never forgive us."
Harry smiled. "Gotcha," he said, glancing around, "where do I start?"
"Anywhere you want," Tony said, turning around and looking in the dresser for something.
Within minutes, Harry had found the shoes, and Tony had made another dozen lame jokes (all centered on Oliver). A knock came at the door; the same rhythm as Oliver had knocked. As Tony fought his way over to the door, Oliver gave a quick salute to Harry and jumped into a small room that could only be a bathroom.
"Two hours Tony!" a female voice from the door shrieked, "that's not forever you know!"
"I know!" Tony shouted back, sounding more angry than frustrated.
"Sasha'll kill you if you guys aren't on time!"
Tony sighed exasperatedly. Harry craned his neck over to see who was at the door. A woman was standing there, dirty-blonde hair pulled back into a messy ponytail. She was wearing gold coloured dress robes in a very traditional brides-maid style. She noticed Harry and smiled, changing her look completely.
"And who is this?" she asked politely.
"It's Harry, you prat," Tony answered jerkily, causing the girl to scowl at him.
"Well," she said, hitching back up a smile and sticking out her hand, which Harry took, "it's nice to meet you Harry. I'm Kelci."
"She's Sasha's little sister," Tony added to him in a low voice, "and her maid of honour."
"Oh," Harry said, "nice to meet you."
"You too," Kelci said, and her smile left her face as she turned back to Tony. "And you better be doing your job as the best man," she told him, her eyes narrowing.
"I'm doing the best job I can," he said oily, bowing her out. With one last look of hatred at him, she left.
As he closed the door, he leaned back against it, hand at his heart and a dreamy expression on his face. "Isn't she wonderful?" he asked Harry.
"Er…"
"Of course she's wonderful," Oliver said, coming out of the bathroom, hair towelled dry and wearing only a bathrobe.
"You know it," Tony said, taking his hand off his heart and eyeing up Oliver. "You need some clothes there, mate."
"No kidding," Oliver muttered, still not smiling. Tony and Harry frowned.
"You sure as hell had better not be thinking what I think you're thinking," Tony said. Oliver looked at him guiltily. "Oh, no you don't," Tony said forcefully, "you're going though with this if it's the last thing you do. You are not – I repeat – NOT going to break her heart like that other ass did." When Oliver looked even more down, Tony put on a caring face. "It's no use getting cold-feet now," he said soothingly, "you love her and want to marry her, so you're going to."
Oliver nodded sullenly, a grin spreading across his face. As he began to shake with laughter, Tony jumped up.
"You filthy bugger!" he shouted, causing Oliver to laugh even more. "You dirty, rotten, filthy bugger!"
Harry glanced at the clock. They only had one and a half hours to pull it together and get Oliver walking down the aisle.